We are on our way to the zoo.
You are trying to teach
me the benefits of washing prior to sex, but I like the stick and sweat
of beforeness. I will not budge
so you pull over and yell jesus!
but I think you mean
jackpot! You hate to lose.
When I want to define gristle,
I explain gripe instead.
I have shown you all my private zigzags but you insist on the long
route. It’s not enough to say
cup when we really mean christ.
These little misunderstandings
have brought us to this—the spilling
of our pea green snow cones while watching zebras shuffle around tighter cages.
If this were a cartoon, my bubble
would be blank. Yours might say
what a shame! as a stand-in for other
finer points. Behind us large cats
kick-up dust and will not settle.